


The Diner at the End of the World

by enoby_way



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic), The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Better Living Industries, Crossover, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, featuring some of the other 43 children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoby_way/pseuds/enoby_way
Summary: The Umbrella Academy left the world behind after the apocalypse, but the remnants of humanity rise from the ashes left behind.Now, Better Living Industries have taken control of the world, and it’s up to the Fabulous Killjoys to stop them.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. The Newcomers

Romance hated caves.

The days in the desert were blisteringly hot, and the nights were too cold to snow. Their cave kept them warm, and so did the campfire, but there was no privacy. He had to change in front of the two girls he travelled with, and the bathroom was just a hole dug into a far corner. The three days they had been there was three days too long.

But they couldn’t leave; not when Masquerade was as ill as she was. Somehow, she had caught an infection after leaving Manhattan over a month ago, and with their water rationed, she was struggling to stay hydrated.

Romance knew he should have taken more water.

But he couldn’t have done; they only had two bags between them after losing the third in an ambush, and they could only carry so much.

Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t seen it rain since the day the moon exploded.

He still couldn’t believe that it actually _happened_ , even now, three years later. He remembered sitting in his home with Masquerade when that beam of light crossed the sky. They shared glances, knowing something _bad_ was about to happen, and fled to the Reagan Shelter underneath their city.

Napalm yawned from her spot at the cave mouth. She was keeping watch while Romance took care of Masquerade. He took solace in the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who had been losing sleep.

‘How’s she doing?’ Napalm asked. Romance couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was concerned.

He looked over at their barely conscious friend. Masquerade lay with the back of her hand on her face. A groan escaped her dry lips followed by a terse, ‘ _She_ is awake, thank you very much.’

‘You’re an idiot,’ Romance told her. ‘I told you to leave the bag.’

‘My necklace was in there. It was the only thing I had left from home.’

_Home_.

Romance didn’t want to think about the time when he and Masquerade were actually _happy_. Or as happy as they could be, anyway. He used to be jealous that she still _had_ something from the house they owned together; all he had was the clothes on his back.

At least they didn’t have to pay their mortgage anymore.

Napalm’s head jerked. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Hear what?’ Romance asked, then glared when she held up a finger.

They listened, and sure enough above them was the shuffling sound of feet against rock. Someone was climbing down the cliff.

Make that _two_ someones.

Napalm mimed zipping her lips and crawled out of the cave. Romance watched her disappear from sight before turning his gaze back on Masquerade.

_How did she hear that?_ He mouthed to her. She looked at him with tired eyes and shook her head.

From outside came a blast against rock, and a cry.

‘Watch where you’re shooting!’

They exchanged glances. That was a woman’s voice – angry and hoarse, but definitely human. Not whatever those masked men were.

Napalm ducked back into the cave. ‘Get the bags; we’re leaving.’

Romance nodded and slung both of the duffels over his shoulders. Napalm grabbed Masquerade by the hand and hoisted her to her feet. Romance walked backwards out of the cave; gun trained on a spot just above his field of view.

When he stepped out from the shelter, he saw two women sat atop the miniscule ledge that formed the cave roof. One was a ginger girl wearing a green beanie, and the other a brunette who wore the worst combination of leopard-print and fishnets he had ever seen, and _why_ was she wearing _combat boots_?

Something must have shown on his face, because Leopard-Print barked a sharp, ‘Quit staring, creep.’

‘Not sure how I’m the creep,’ he said, his gun still pointed at the woman’s face. ‘You two are the ones crawling ‘round our base.’

Beanie pointed to the top of the cliff. Romance squinted to see the edge but saw nothing out of the ordinary. ‘We were trying to get away from _them_.’

‘I don’t see anyone,’ he told her.

‘Well _obviously_ ,’ Leopard-Print snapped. ‘We were about a mile ahead of them! Now _please_ let us hide!’

‘We won’t all fit,’ came Masquerade’s too-sweet voice.

Romance looked back to his friends; Napalm was supporting Masquerade out of the cave. They both had their ray guns in their hands with their fingers ready on the trigger. Napalm’s expression was grim, but Masquerade just looked amused.

‘You’re delirious,’ Romance told her. ‘Nothing about this situation is funny.’

‘I think it’s hilarious,’ she answered. ‘You can finally leave this cave, and _I_ can watch us get murdered by _vampires_.’

Napalm rolled her eyes. ‘They’re not vampires, Masque.’

‘Draculoids,’ Beanie said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘That’s what they’re called.’

‘Good to know,’ Romance muttered. ‘At least now we know what to call the things you’ve _brought_ to us.’

Leopard-Print jumped down from the ledge and marched up to him. She bared her teeth as she loomed over. ‘We didn’t know there was anyone here, short stuff.’

‘Well,’ Masquerade sang. ‘They do.’

Romance looked past Leopard-Print to see Masquerade pointing off to the distance. He followed her finger but couldn’t see anything past the horizon. ‘Are you hallucinating?’

‘Shocking, but no. There are two vans; they’re camouflaged.’

He knew he wasn’t the only one staring at her, but he was still annoyed that she actually _surprised_ him. ‘How on _earth_ did you know that?’

‘Yeah,’ Leopard-Print said. ‘We’ve learnt all we could about BLI’s tech, but this is the first I’ve heard about camo.’

Masquerade shook Napalm off and pulled herself onto the ledge. ‘I’ll tell you later, Romance.’ She cradled her gun in both hands, peering down the sight. After a short moment to adjust, she pulled the trigger.

There was an explosion, which must have been one of the vans she mentioned. All Romance knew was that he was never letting her out of his sight again. He turned back and saw both Napalm and Leopard-Print gaping at her.

‘You just took out an invisible van,’ Beanie whispered. ‘With one shot!’

‘Not invisible; just camouflaged.’

‘What’s the difference?’ Leopard-Print asked.

‘See the way the light is shining? When the sun hits it, you can see the reflection. It’s like it’s made out of _mirrors_.’

Beanie whistled. ‘Do it again.’

Napalm scowled at them. ‘We should be _leaving_. We don’t know how many people are chasing us, and what do we do when we run out of battery? Besides,’ she turned to the two newcomers. ‘We don’t even know your _names_.’

‘I’m Synthetic Flame,’ Beanie told them.

‘Crash Poison,’ said Leopard-Print.

‘I’m Napalm Erotica,’ Napalm sighed. ‘These are my friends, Electrifying Romance, and Black Masquerade.’

‘Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate,’ Masquerade muttered, gesturing at the three of them with her gun.

‘Watch where you’re pointing that thing,’ Romance said.

She shrugged and turned back to fire again. Something that she saw made her pause and curse under her breath.

Romance looked back out and saw a white-and-black van slowing to a stop fifty metres away. He tried taking it out but only succeeded in burning a hole in the door. ‘We’re screwed.’

‘Get up here,’ Masquerade demanded, holding out her hand. ‘We’re gonna be here a while.’

Romance didn’t take it. He watched in horror as three vampire-masked men ( _Draculoids_ ) climbed out of the front seats, and fifteen more exit the back. They were vastly outnumbered, tired, and weak.

‘ _Romance_!’ Masquerade shouted. Behind her mask, her eyes were wide and frantic. ‘I need your help!’

He swallowed and grabbed hold of her hand, letting her pull him on top of the ledge. They flinched as a ray grazed the tip of Masquerade’s feather. Next to them, Flame had stood and was firing wildly at the draculoids. Her hands shook violently.

He took a deep breath and aimed a shot and fired. He missed a draculoid by an inch and was rewarded by Masquerade’s cry of pain. He didn’t have the time to see where she had been hit, so he prayed that it wasn’t anywhere vital.

Another shout – this time it was from Flame. Instinct made him look, and he watched with dread as she slipped from the ledge and cracked her head on the ground below.

‘ _FLAME_!’ Crash screamed, dragging her into the cave. Romance could hear worried tones underneath his feet.

‘Masque,’ he managed, finally catching sight of his friend. His heart dropped as he took in the sight; her hand clutched a scorched hole in her jacket just below her navel. He couldn’t see her expression properly, but he could see the veins in her hand.

‘We’re not gonna die here, Romance,’ she told him weakly as she took out another draculoid. ‘I won’t let it happen.’

‘Look after Flame,’ he answered.

She climbed down without argument, leaving him alone on the ledge. There were still thirteen draculoids left, and his gun’s battery was almost dead. He barely hung onto hope. He was exhausted, and hungry, and _weak_. Any moment now, and one of the rays would actually hit him.

* * *

In the end, they were saved by luck. Romance called it divine intervention.

Reinforcements arrived in the form of a Pontiac Firebird. There were two men – one driver, who ran straight through the crowd of draculoids like they were nothing, and a passenger who killed the remaining seven with one shot each.

Crash and Napalm helped Romance down from the ledge. He took stock of their injuries. Flame and Masquerade were both unconscious, and Crash had been shot in the shoulder. Somehow, he and Napalm had both made it through the battle without being hit.

He didn’t let himself dwell too much on that. Not when Masquerade was in a dire state, and their saviours were making their way over to them.

Crash’s jaw dropped. ‘Holy shit.’

And Romance understood why. Really, he got it. Because he and Masquerade had been running for months trying to get to the Killjoy base.

And Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had delivered themselves to the group as if they had been sent by angels.


	2. Family Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to update around the first Friday of every month. Thank you to my readers for your kudos and comments :) x

Crash followed Kobra into the diner. She watched as two men who must have been Party Poison and Fun Ghoul carried the unconscious girls to separate booths.

‘What happened?’ the redhead ( _Poison_ ) asked. ‘Who are these girls?’

‘Jet and I found them in Zone Five. He’s still there now with the other two.’

‘Guess your video worked,’ Ghoul commented. He had a first-aid kid in his hand and was headed for Flame.

Poison grimaced. Crash got the impression that he wasn’t too pleased about it.

‘I’m Crash Poison,’ she told them. ‘That’s my friend Synthetic Flame. I think _her_ name is Black Masquerade.’ She nodded towards the black-clad Killjoy.

‘No kidding,’ Ghoul muttered. He dabbed cotton wool with some kind of alcohol and started cleaning the crusted-over gash on Flame’s temple.

Crash still felt sick. She promised Flame’s mother that she would take care of her, and all she had succeeded in doing was get her cousin into trouble and nearly killed. She sniffed, holding back tears. She had to remind herself that she was at the diner, and that she was safe.

But Flame looked so _small_ in that booth.

It didn’t take them long to see that the bleeding had stopped, and after measuring her pulse, Ghoul declared her stable. For now.

‘There’s not much I can do until she wakes up,’ he explained as he threw his tools into a bin. ‘We’re limited to these packs.’

Crash nodded and took over his spot on the table by Flame’s side. She could see over the back of the seat to Masquerade. Poison had managed to get her parade jacket undone, and he had pulled up her shirt to reveal something that horrified Crash.

She’d seen ray gun wounds first-hand; she had watched other killjoys die by draculoid hands. She felt the pain herself now in her shoulder. But that wasn’t what shook her.

Just below the shot was a long, jagged scar stretching from hip to hip. She could just make out a poorly stitched incision through ugly infected burns.

‘What the fuck,’ Ghoul whispered.

Crash didn’t trust herself to say anything – scared that she would vomit as soon as she opened her mouth.

The door jingled open, and she jerked her head to see Jet, followed by a tired Romance and Napalm.

‘How are they?’ Jet asked.

‘Someone did a number on this one,’ Poison answered. ‘I’m surprised she’s alive at all.’

Crash narrowed her eyes, watching Romance and Napalm wear twin grimaces. ‘Botched surgery,’ he explained. ‘We only had a day of rest before _they_ came.’

‘We met a doctor – he called himself Shining Angel,’ Napalm said, her voice hollow. ‘He did the surgery and stitched her up. Then he used the lighter; said it would stop infection.’

‘Clearly,’ Crash said sarcastically, ‘he did a great job.’

Poison shook his head and took the bottle of alcohol offered. ‘I’m going to clean it as best as I can, but she needs antibiotics. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t guarantee that the stash we’ve got is enough.’

‘It will have to be,’ Romance rasped. ‘I’m not letting her die.’

‘You’re doing a great job there,’ Crash told him. ‘Whose idea was the surgery, anyway?’

He didn’t answer, not that she expected him to. She turned away from the sight and looked to her cousin. Flame looked almost peaceful in her sleep.

This was messed up.

Three years ago, Crash and Flame hardly even _knew_ each other. They were cousins, sure, but there was a seven-year age difference. Flame was fifteen and still in school. Crash…

Well, Crash was the family failure.

She could never do anything right by her family; she was a disappointment to her parents, and she was pretty sure Flame just saw her as the useless cousin. She spent her days working at a dead-end job, living paycheck to paycheck, saddled with student debt after dropping out of college.

But then 2019 rolled around, and the world ended.

She found out early on that her parents were dead. Their bodies lay just before the steps leading to the shelter. Another minute and…

She couldn’t think like that; she found her aunt and uncle and Flame huddled underground, clinging to each other. Aunt Helen took her in and Crash actually had to look _responsible_. She even got a job at Better Living Industries in one of their packing factories. For once her family actually looked _proud_ of her.

What followed was seven months of war as the remnants of humanity fought to gain territories. Seven months of disappearances, bombs, fear… the war was cruel and unregulated. No one cared, and no one noticed when Better Living Industries expanded.

But one day Flame came home in tears. Better Living were recruiting _teenagers_ for their war, and they wanted her to join. Her friends had either joined the effort or disappeared, and she was scared of what would happen to her if she refused.

That was the day the Fabulous Killjoys released their video. They called Better Living out on their emergence, and their sudden appearance after the apocalypse. The leader – Party Poison, he called himself – accused Better Living of kidnapping and enslaving men, women, even children. Whoever they could get their hands on.

 _‘We are the ones willing to die for you,’_ Poison had said. _‘Everybody wants to change the world. No one wants to die.’_

Aunt Helen told Crash to take Flame and go. She told them to escape with their lives before Better Living could get their poisonous hands on them.

 _‘Take care of your cousin,’_ Aunt Helen told her. _‘Do something worthwhile with your life, for once.’_

Crash buried her head in her hands and quietly sobbed.

She was useless.

* * *

When Flame awoke, she was lying on a metal shelf with a blanket draped over her body. The room was big enough for twelve people if they were packed like sardines. It wasn’t the comfiest bed she’d ever slept on, but it was enough.

She looked across to the bunk opposite, and saw Black Masquerade passed out. Her face was pale and flushed, and she was mumbling something Flame couldn’t quite make out.

Flame pushed herself off the shelf and stepped over to the other girl. She wore her black-and-silver colombina mask even in sleep.

She jumped as the door opened. Electrifying Romance stood in the doorway. His expression was sad as he took in the sight of his unconscious friend.

‘How long was I out?’ Flame had to ask, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from Romance’s hollow eyes.

‘A day,’ he said. ‘Is she still-?’

‘Yeah.’

He let out a deep sigh. ‘Crash is out with Kobra, Jet and Napalm. Masque needs more medicine, and there isn’t enough food here for all of us.’

Flame nodded. Her hand jumped to the back of her head as pain flared from the action.

‘Come on,’ Romance told her. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’

She followed him out into the diner, squinting at the sunlight through the windows. He headed behind the counter and started making a pot of coffee. It was just the two of them, but she could hear voices outside. Out here, away from Masquerade’s unconscious body, Romance looked a lot less tense. The stiffness in his shoulders eased, and his thick eyebrows softened.

He was attractive, for an older man. Older than _her_ , anyway; she was eighteen and she guessed that he was at least thirty. With pitch black hair and bright green eyes, a sharp jaw and pointed nose, he could almost be a Disney prince… if not for the fact that he was short.

‘It’s amazing,’ he said, voice cutting through her thoughts. Flame hoped he didn’t notice her staring. ‘The world ended, but we still have coffee. Like, _lots_ of coffee.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Um…?’

‘I’m serious. When we were in the desert, we had to ration our water, but here? There are _pipes_. And there’s got to be fifty bags of instant coffee here. Maybe I actually died and I’m in heaven.’

‘Or hell,’ Flame deadpanned. ‘The draculoids?’

He waved a hand. ‘Not important. If I can go a day without wondering if there’s enough water for all of us to drink, then I’m happy.’

_How long had he been in the desert?_

Flame shrugged and took the coffee mug he offered her. It was black, but she’d tolerate the bitterness if it meant she’d actually get something to drink.

 _Huh_.

It was the best diner coffee she’d had in her life.

She eyed the mug suspiciously. ‘What did you put in this?’

He looked confused. ‘Nothing.’

‘Then why does it taste so good?’ He blinked a few times, and then burst out laughing. She scowled at him, annoyed that he was making fun of her. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just been a long time since someone complimented me.’

Well that was depressing. ‘What about your girlfriend?’ she nodded towards the backroom.

His smile faltered. ‘Who, Masquerade? She’s not my girlfriend. Besides, I don't exactly surprise her anymore; she expects me to be good at whatever I do.’

‘What about her?’

‘Oh, I lose her all the time.’

‘You… lose her?’

‘Yeah.’

Apparently, he wasn’t going to elaborate. Go figure.

She sighed and took another sip, sitting down on one of the bar stools. He seemed in thought as he cleared away after himself. ‘So… what made you join the Killjoys?’

He froze. ‘Uh, _Masque_ did. She never really trusted Better Living; kept talking about how convenient it was that they showed up all of a sudden. They locked her up for it, and she wasn’t the same when she came out. When that video came out… we knew that she was right.’

Flame was still struggling to accept that the cheerily cynical woman was able to take out that van in one hit.

‘It was like that for us, too,’ she mentioned. ‘They took over my school. When my friends started going missing, I didn’t know what to do. They wanted to recruit us for war, but…’

Romance looked away, a jaded expression knitting together his brows. ‘To be honest, I don’t even remember who else was fighting in the war before Poison and everyone came along.’

When Flame thought about it, neither did she.


	3. "They're not kids"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had this chapter sitting for over a month waiting to be edited. Good thing I'm quaratined.

‘So,’ Poison started, knuckles rapping against the BLI van’s passenger door. There was a small, scorched hole next to the handle. Apparently, Romance had been the one to hit it – from a distance as well. ‘What are we going to do about the kids?’

‘They’re not kids, Poison,’ Agent Cherri Cola answered. He and Poison were outside smoking, while Ghoul checked out the van.

‘Flame is _eighteen_. She’s almost half my age; I don’t like it.’

Cola sighed. ‘We knew when we sent out that video, we’d reach young adults and teenagers. All we can do is try to keep them as safe as possible.’ Poison laughed shortly and shook his head. Cola continued, ‘I know you’ve got a kid at home, so I _understand_. But you can’t parent these people.’

‘Cola’s right,’ came Ghoul’s muffled voice from beneath the van. A quick glance told Poison that the man was gritting his teeth around a wrench. His dark hair was streaked even blacker with oil. ‘I’m sure they left behind their families. They’re not looking for a surrogate.’

Poison looked away. He didn’t disagree with them, not really. His daughter would be eleven now, but he’d not seen her in two years. Flame wasn’t even old enough to drink, but here he was, asking her to put her life on the line? If someone asked that of his daughter…

And look at where the fighting had gotten her. The last he saw of her she was unconscious, and that wasn’t even saying anything of Masquerade.

He didn’t realise he was scowling until Cola called him out on it. ‘What’s bothering you now?’

‘That surgery.’

Cola’s expression hardened. Poison wasn’t looking at Ghoul, but he knew they both shared his anger. ‘I’m not sure who I’m more pissed at; Romance and Napalm, or the asshole who sliced into her.’

‘Obviously they wouldn’t have gone for it if it wasn’t important. Still,’ Poison took a drag of his cigarette. ‘How could they believe the guy?’

‘They must have been scared,’ Ghoul reasoned. ‘I dunno what it was, but it can’t have been an easy decision to make.’

Well because of that decision, Black Masquerade lay unconscious and feverish. Poison wasn’t keeping his hopes up for her survival.

* * *

Napalm was lost.

Not literally, obviously. She knew where she was; in the zones with Crash Poison, keeping watch while Jet and Kobra raided a BLI warehouse.

But mentally? She was screwed.

The last few months with Romance and Masquerade had been both a blessing and a curse; it was _nice_ to have other British Killjoys to travel with. And yeah, okay. Being on the run from Better Living was utter hell, but it sure as hell beat _home_.

At first, things were great. The three of them were best friends, and Napalm quickly felt like she had known the two for years rather than days. Masquerade had a cheerful charm to her, and Romance always knew how to lighten the mood.

But then Manhattan happened, and her friends changed.

She heaved a sigh, forcing the two out of her thoughts. She was already stressing herself out, wondering if Masquerade and Flame were going to be okay. She didn’t need to distract herself from her mission.

Crash seemed to notice that something was up. ‘So, who’s banging who?’

Napalm choked on her own spit. She was _not_ expecting _that_. ‘What?’

‘You banging Romance, or you more of a tits girl?’

‘I’m _not_ having this conversation.’ Crash had a look in her eye that said she wouldn’t drop the subject. ‘They’re like a brother and sister to me.’

Was she imagining that disappointed expression? _Nah_ , she shook her head. ‘What about you? Who’s Flame to you?’

‘She’s my little cousin,’ her tone was flat, basically telling Napalm to back off. ‘Her mom told me to look after her. We ran ‘cause BLI tried to recruit her.’

Napalm shrugged one shoulder. ‘At least your family tried to keep you safe.’ At Crash’s questioning glance, she continued. ‘Things were different back home. I’m from Newcastle, and BLI took over factories pretty quickly – the ones left standing that is. The way they saw it, if you weren’t contributing in some way, then you were against them. I didn’t agree with the wars, and because of that my parents sold me to them.’

Crash did a double take. ‘They _what_?’

‘My parents were enforcers. They locked up “problem folk”; drunks, homeless people, people who refused to take the mandatory pills… I didn’t want to be any part of it.’ She remembered the fear that threatened to swallow her whole that one night six months ago. ‘I managed to escape. Ended up on a plane as luggage and that’s how I met Romance and Masque.’

She wasn’t surprised that Crash fell silent. It was a memory that kept her awake at night, firmly clutching her ray gun against her chest. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw her father’s furious expression. She could still feel the blood warm her hands from where she drove her pocket-knife into his stomach.

She wanted to puke.

To be honest, she hadn’t even told Crash the worst of it; only herself, Romance, and Masquerade knew about what happened to Napalm inside the corrections facility. Only they knew about the people Napalm left behind.

She was saved from her thoughts when the warehouse door opened. Kobra stood at the entrance beckoning them inside.

Crash helped Napalm stand, pulling her up using her good arm. There was a look in her eyes of understanding.

‘We need your help with the bags,’ Kobra told them when they approached. ‘I don’t want us to be here longer than we need to be.’

Napalm nodded and followed Kobra past the rows of shelves. Most of the contents were weapons; guns, grenades, and she was certain she spotted a rocket-launcher in the distance. Jet stood close to the other end of the warehouse. Each of the five duffels they had brought with them were brimming with tinned food, batteries and ray guns.

‘We got some medicine,’ he told them. ‘There were a couple of first aid kits as well so we can stock back up.’

‘Guess even BLI agents bleed,’ Crash muttered.

Napalm didn’t acknowledge her comment. She shouldered one of the bags, grunting as she adjusted the weight against her hip. The bag was heavier than it looked, and she looked at the others apprehensively, wondering how they were going to carry five duffels between them.

She didn’t need to wonder for long; Kobra and Jet each carried two bags the same way Romance and taken theirs the day before.

Crash led them back out of the warehouse, her ray gun trained in front of her. They were fortunate that there weren’t any Draculoids nearby. Napalm was still shook up from the ambush the day before; she didn’t think she’d be able to survive another battle.

They loaded the bags into the Trans Am and climbed inside, Napalm and Crash taking the back, and the men in the front.

‘How’s your shoulder?’ Napalm asked.

‘Fine,’ Crash said tersely.

Napalm shrugged off the other girl’s attitude. She was probably worried about her ginger friend, and an injured shoulder was bound to make anyone snappish. Napalm was trying to keep down last night’s dinner, just thinking about the awful state her own friend was in.


	4. A Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masquerade wakes up.

The first thing Masquerade heard when she woke was laughter. She groaned and slid her hand down her face. The last thing she remembered was her gun running out of battery.

She looked around her; she was lying on one of many metal shelves in a cramped room. It looked like it used to be a stockroom, with small windows near the ceiling letting in light.

Well, it was better than being stuck in the desert.

She realised that she was on her own. Hopefully Flame was safe and with the others; she didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Groaning, she steadily twisted around to the edge of the shelf, using the frame to pull her upper body into a slouch. She hissed at a pain on her belly but ignored it and forced herself off the shelf.

Okay, that was better. She pulled up her jacket and shirt to check on her wounds; her scar was ugly as always, but less inflamed than she last saw of it, and the blisters had gotten smaller. Just above it was a perfectly circular burn. It only looked like a surface wound, but she knew how little that actually mattered.

She felt her face and was relieved that her mask was still in place. Hopefully Romance told the girls her reasons for keeping it on.

 _The girls_.

Now that she thought about it, who rescued them?

She listened carefully through the door. There was a man’s voice, which she didn’t recognise.

‘Okay, but nothing compares to the time Flame sent a Valentine’s Day card to her science teacher,’ that was Crash’s voice.

‘Ugh, don’t remind me!’ Flame’s words came out muffled. She must have buried her head in her hands.

‘Don’t tell me you actually _signed_ it?’ that was Napalm.

Masquerade didn’t hear Flame’s response, but everyone laughed again.

She took a step back. It felt wrong now to walk out the door. Everyone seemed so happy, and here she was – confused as hell.

Was Romance worried? How long was she unconscious? Did he keep watch over her?

Did he _die_?

The last thought came to her in such a sudden, that she threw her past worry out of the window and slammed the door open. She cast her eyes around a now quiet diner, and finally settled on Romance, who was stood behind the counter.

She breathed a sigh of relief and ran to hug him, holding back tears. ‘You’re _alive_ ,’ she whispered.

‘Of course I am,’ he said, not containing his voice. He slowly wrapped his arms around her. ‘I’m glad you’re awake.’

‘He was _incredible_!’ Crash said from her seat next to Flame, in a booth by the window. ‘The way he just kept going after you passed out… it was like watching something out of a film!’

Masquerade pulled away, holding Romance at arm’s length. ‘Really?’

Romance tousled his hair, the way he normally did when he felt awkward. ‘I sort of blanked out? I don’t really remember much of it, aside from being scared that none of us would make it.’

‘That’s when Jet and Kobra arrived,’ Napalm explained. She was sat opposite Crash, and next to a lanky man with messy black and green hair. ‘They shot down half the Dracs and ran the rest over in their car.’

‘Dracs?’

‘They’re the vampire-masked men we keep running into,’ a red-haired man answered. ‘They’re the BLI frontline soldiers.’

Masquerade watched him – finally paying attention to the men she didn’t know. She recognised the four men sat at the bar from BLI wanted posters. They were the Killjoy leaders: Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star and Kobra Kid. They all looked around the same age as her and Romance – early to mid-thirties. She was expecting someone older.

The man sat next to Napalm – that must have been Agent Cherri Cola. There hadn’t been any posters of him, but she’d listened to the radio enough to figure that Dr Death Defying didn’t look like _that_.

She jumped as Romance nudged his way around her. He left her standing behind the bar as he took the last stool available, coffee in hand. He shared a smile with Ghoul.

‘How long was I out?’ she asked quietly.

‘About a week,’ Flame told her. ‘Napalm looked after you and gave you medicine.’

Of course.

Romance didn’t meet her eyes. It was easy, she figured, for him to leave her behind now that they were safe at the Killjoy base. The pitiful attempts at survival she, Romance, and Napalm managed forced the three of them in close quarters. There was no way any of them could become their _own_ people.

 _Left behind_.

Yeah. She had the distinct sense that she was fading away. Napalm’s group were animated, chatting between them about some mission they’d been on. And Romance took up the leaders’ attention.

It reminded her of before.

***

_Ontario, June 2009_

The moon exploded.

Francis watched in silent horror as the remains crashed to the world around. People screamed, scrambling for some form of shelter in the seconds before collision. Fires raged around him, engulfing everything in sight and vaporising each living thing they touched.

It was the end of the world…

…and no one could stop it.

***

Masquerade sat alone in a booth, watching silently as Romance and Flame joked about the Power Pup they were eating. She took a sip of the coffee she cradled in her hands, now cold after being sat for an hour.

It had only been a day since she had woken, but Masquerade already felt like a ghost. Conversations with Romance were stilted at best, and Napalm was the only other person who gave her the time of day.

She frowned as Romance laughed. It was the most genuine laugh she’d heard from him in months.

Napalm slumped down beside her with a heavy sigh. She rested her head on Masquerade’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Masque.’

‘Do what?’

‘That basement is _filthy_. I’ve never wanted a shower more in my life!’

She was lying, Masquerade was sure. They spent months on the run without being able to do more than spray stolen deodorant. Masquerade was still bitter that Romance never smelled of body odour.

But she got it; after they were released from the shelters, Masquerade was hired as a cleaner for one of the BLI offices near her home in Manchester. She saw more of the executive staff than she would have liked and would often complain to Romance about the state of the bathrooms. After a while it became the norm.

‘How many spiders?’ she asked with a smile.

Napalm shuddered, and that was all the answer she needed. They sat in comfortable silence – Masquerade draining the last of her coffee as she leaned her head against Napalm’s. It was nice, this one solitary moment where she could relax.

When all of this was over, they would have to have a girls’ night out.

‘Why don’t you talk to the others more?’

‘I talk,’ Masquerade answered softly. ‘They just don’t listen.’ They probably didn’t even notice she was there. Masquerade was on enough painkillers that she fell back on her old ways, hugging the shadows and keeping out of sight. It couldn’t be helped, really, but she knew without Napalm telling her that she had to make herself known.

She avoided her friend’s eyes; Napalm was looking Romance’s way with a sad expression on her dace.

‘He was really worried about you.’

‘Couldn’t tell,’ Masquerade said, sitting up. She met Napalm’s eyes and saw her disappointed frown. ‘Don’t give me that look.’

‘He’s struggling just as much as you are, Masque.’

‘Then he can tell me that to my face.’

The look on Napalm’s face just said “well, can you blame him?”

And she would have had a point if she actually said it out loud.

Masquerade sighed and stood up. ‘I’m gonna practice shooting. You joining?’

Napalm shook her head. ‘You go ahead.’

Masquerade nodded and left the diner for the makeshift shooting range around the back. It was a generous description, considering the Killjoys stacked old Power Pup tins on pallets and called it a range. It served its purpose though.

She turned the corner and found Poison aiming his gun. She watched as he took out five tins in quick succession.

‘Nice shot,’ she said, grimacing as he jumped.

‘Thanks?’

She sighed and took up the spot beside him, pointing her own gun at the tins and shooting carefully. Poison was the better shot, but she wasn’t bad herself. She trained with the best, after all.

‘How are you feeling?’ Poison asked her. ‘I’ve not seen you since you woke up.’

Masquerade held her hand to her face, blocking the sun out of her eyes as she turned back to face him. He was a good-looking man, and well built for living out in the desert. She wondered if he used to work out before the world ended. ‘I’ve not been this doped up since I was a teenager.’

He nodded slowly, like he actually understood what she was telling him. She wondered exactly how much Romance had told the others about their lives before BLI.

‘When you and Flame are healed, we’ll get you both out on a mission. Jet found something strange in the warehouse he raided the other day. I want you two to go with him to check it out.’

‘Is this normal?’ she asked with a scowl.

‘To go back? Yeah.’

‘I mean people doing what you tell them to.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I’m the leader here. Dr D and I are the oldest, we know what we’re doing.’

Masquerade shook her head, not sure how to tell him about the strange _pull_ she felt. The want to give BLI hell. ‘Never mind.’

Poison crossed his arms. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily. Tell me what you meant.’

She didn’t feel the pull again.

‘Answer me.’

Something clicked.

Months ago, when she and Romance were sat in the living room of the shabby home they shared, the Killjoy recruitment took over the daily Fact News broadcast. She had just been released from BLI custody, and Poison’s words rang loud.

_They want to control you. We are the ones willing to die for you._

_Do you want to change the world? Or are you gonna just keep running?_

She felt it then – that pull. She was so full of rage that she took the chance to take down Better Living Industries the moment the opportunity was offered to her. She was starving, and Poison was a cornucopia.

He had a power.

She stiffened and gritted her teeth. It must have been so easy for Poison to play people like her. He was no different to BLI with their mood-altering drugs.

‘Your power isn’t working on me.’

His face dropped, arms falling slack.

‘I don’t know where you get off _brainwashing_ us or-!’

He rushed forwards and covered her mouth. ‘ _Shut up_!’ His eyes glared down at her. ‘It’s not like that!’

She gestured to the hand on her mouth. _Really_?

Poison sighed and let go. Masquerade wondered if he regretted speaking to her.

‘Do the others know?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re the only newbie who does.’ He ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip. ‘Look, my power. It’s not brainwashing.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘Think of it like alcohol. My voice can influence your actions. If you were on the fence about turning against our _glorious saviours_ , then the video would sway you to our side.’

‘That’s dirty!’ Masquerade snapped.

Poison motioned around him. ‘And the rest of the world _isn’t_? We were medicated into silence and compliance! Our friend was _murdered_ for defying them!’

She didn’t feel any sympathy for him. There was a time when she stood in front of her town, crying out and pleading for the others to see the light. When the crowd dispersed the only one who stuck around was Romance, who had watched the whole spectacle emotionlessly.

Her lips pursed. She could have used Poison’s power back then. She wasn’t asking for people to lay down their lives – only to stop the medication.

‘How could you tell?’

Her eyes snapped to his. ‘You think you’re the only one with a power?’


	5. The Pods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet returns to the warehouse with Flame and Masquerade

_ Manchester, 1997 _

Cadence sat in the bottom of her wardrobe, huddled over in a ball. Her fingers gripped her hair, pulling at the roots. She flinched at every heavy footstep.

She mustn’t cry. She mustn’t make a sound.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Dave was angry. He had been shouting at Mary again.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Karen told her that the Richmond family would be nice. 

The doorknob rattled, and Cadence tried to make herself smaller.

The door opened, and the thick smell of smoke and alcohol flooded through the tiny gap between the wardrobe doors. Dave had been drinking again.

‘Where are you, you little bitch?’ he slurred, stumbling around the room.

Cadence held her breath as he came closer to her hiding place. He stopped outside the wardrobe and after a moment, threw open the doors.

Cadence willed herself not to react. Dave loomed over, peering through tiny eyes behind the dresses covering her. His eyes met hers.

He swore to himself and left.

She let out a sigh after a door closed in the distance. He didn’t see her.

***

‘This way,’ Jet said, leading Flame and Masquerade through the warehouse. They had already passed rows of Power Pup, but this wasn’t an ordinary mission. Behind him, he could hear one of the girls picking things off the shelves. He and the others had stocked up well the last time he was here, but it didn’t hurt to have more food than they needed – especially if more Killjoys were to show up in the future.

The walk somehow felt longer. He and Kobra hadn’t exactly taken their time as they raided the warehouse, but despite memorising the path Jet still felt like he was stuck in a maze.

‘So how come we’ve got to come back?’ came Flame’s voice. ‘I thought we weren’t supposed to hit the same place twice in a row.’

‘We weren’t sure how long we had last time,’ Jet answered. ‘We came here for food and medicine, so we couldn’t risk losing it all getting  side-tracked .’

‘Oh.’

Masquerade was silent, which wasn’t a surprise. Jet hadn’t really heard her say much since that first day when she woke up. Even then; Poison had told him about their encounter at the range, and how badly she had taken the news about Poison’s power. Since then, Masquerade spent most of her time sleeping in a booth.

Finally, they made it to the pod.

It was in an annexed portion of the warehouse, which was really the only reason he and Kobra had found it in the first place. They were curious about what Better Living Industries would keep in a separate room, no matter how small it was. The pod was stored in what could have been a closet, lying lengthways with the lid propped open.

The pod was roughly the size and shape of a sunbed, with a lid made out of thick plastic lined with soundproof padding. Heavy metal clasps were bolted on the side of the body, so it looked as though it would lock from the outside. The body itself, he saw as he peered into it, was deep enough for a body to fit inside.

It was more of a casket than anything.

A gun clattered to the concrete floor. Jet shot around to see a frightened Masquerade, shaking with eyes wide behind her mask. Even as he stood over two metres away from her, he could hear her gasping breath. ‘What’s wrong?’

She slowly raised a hand, pointing at the pod. ‘W-what’s that  _ thing _ doing here?’

‘You’ve seen it before?’ Flame asked. Jet heard the disbelief in her voice.

Masquerade only swallowed, nodding her head. Jet waited patiently for her to collect herself. Romance had told them about the time BLI had locked her up, and why she didn’t want to remove her mask.

All the other man had told them, however, was that Masquerade was arrested for sedition. They knew she was a criminal, but not what caused the panic attack they were witnessing now.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Eventually, she had calmed down enough to explain. ‘It’s a sensory deprivation tank. They use it back home as a form of punishment.’

Jet raised an eyebrow. ‘Weren’t these meant to be used as therapy?’

Masquerade flinched. ‘That’s what they called it,’ she spat. ‘They locked me in one of those things for a week. The bottom fills up with salt water and you just float. You're only supposed to be in there for an hour, but the only reason I know how long it was, was because I saw a calendar on my way out.’

‘How did you  _ eat _ ?’ Flame asked.

‘They fed me through a tube,’ Masquerade hissed. ‘When you’re locked in there, it’s not therapy; it’s  _ torture _ .’

‘That’s horrible,’ Flame muttered. ‘When they were trying to recruit me and my classmates, they used a bunch of sick methods, but nothing like  _ this _ ,’ she waved her hand at the pod.

Masquerade didn’t answer, only kneeling down to pick up her gun. Once she was standing, she shot the pod four times in the body. ‘I’m going back to the car,’ she said as she turned around.

Jet didn’t question her. He motioned for Flame to follow, and the three left the building together.

***

They returned to the diner in silence. Masquerade left the car first, slamming her door shut before marching through the front doors. Flame and Jet shared a look as they watched her.

When Romance first told Flame that Masquerade had been arrested, she wasn’t expecting to hear what the older woman had told them. Sure, he had said that Masquerade wasn’t the same after her experience, but  _ torture _ ? It was almost unthinkable.

But then again, it made sense. Better Living kidnapped teenagers to draft them into a thankless war. Families were threatened, and Flame herself was stalked by enforcers for a week before she finally told her mom what was happening. That was after all her friends had disappeared.

Every day convinced her even more that joining the Fabulous Killjoys was the right thing to do.

‘How are you doing?’ Jet asked her.

‘Um,’ she wasn’t sure. ‘I just want to see Crash.’

He nodded, motioning for her to go ahead.

They entered the diner. Masquerade was nowhere to be seen, so she must have gone straight to her bunk. Crash was sat at a booth with Romance and Napalm. Flame was thankful; after today, she was tired and worn out. She wanted her cousin.

As soon as she sat down, Jet let out a whistle to get everyone’s attention. The rest of the leaders were in their own booth, with Dr D sat in his wheelchair at the head of the table.

‘What was it?’ Poison asked.

Jet sighed. Flame wondered if it was as hard for him to talk about as it was for her to  _ think _ about. ‘Masquerade knew about the pod. Turns out Better Living used it to torture her – it's for sensory deprivation.’

‘Figures she’d know about it,’ Crash muttered. ‘She still never told us how she knew about the  camouflage .’

‘That’s hardly the point,’ Romance snapped at her. His face was pale, but otherwise the picture of fury. His expression was twisted into an ugly snarl.

Jet raised his hand to quiet them. ‘We all have our scars. We’ll ask Masquerade about the camo later. Right now, we need to find out what else BLI are putting people through.’

Flame looked back to Romance’s stony face. He and Napalm both looked like this was the last topic they wanted to talk about. Jet seemed to notice too, because he spoke up, ‘We’ll give it until tomorrow. I know I don’t want to think about it anymore.’

With that, he joined the other leaders in their booth.

Crash leaned back in her seat. ‘What?’ she asked, catching Romance’s glare.

‘You’re a bitch,’ he answered. Before she could say anything else, he stormed out of the diner.

Crash rolled her eyes, but Flame struggled to take her side. After hearing the way Masquerade spoke about the pods, it was hard to be suspicious of her the same way her cousin was.

She wondered exactly how much Romance knew of Masquerade’s experience. He always seemed to avoid talking about him and Masquerade, usually looking sullen if she ever came up in conversation. Even if they weren’t dating, they must have been good friends. Surely, it wasn’t a secret she would have kept from him?

‘I’m going to check on him,’ Napalm said stiffly. ‘You coming with, Masque?’

Flame jumped, her head whipped around to see Masquerade stood behind the counter, eyes fixed on Crash.

‘Sure,’ her voice was emotionless.

The two women left together, neither of them looking back.

After a short moment, Ghoul spoke, ‘Did you see her stood there?’


End file.
